You Have Stolen My Heart
by ChelsaOfBakerStreet
Summary: John is reminiscing about Sherlock on his wedding day. But the thing is, it's Gaby, a colleague from work, he's marrying. or is he?


__**A/N: This is what happens when I listen to sappy love songs and think of what John would do after Sherlock's death. **

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><p><em>I'm getting married today. Wish you could have been here to be my best man. I still miss you. – JW<em>

John sent the message but knew he wouldn't get a reply, he never did but that didn't stop him from sending them anyway. He'd gone up to the top of Saint Bart's once to check but the phone was gone, that iPhone that had annoyed the hell out of him every time it went off, but what he'd do to hear it beep once again.

That had been over a year ago now and John had learned to cope with the death of his best friend and had moved on. Not that it had been easy, everywhere he looked he swore he saw Sherlock, but knew it was only a figment of his imagination. As he stared into the mirror and straightened his tie he thought back to the first time he thought he'd seen him.

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><p><em>Eleven months earlier…<em>

John was sitting at Sherlock's grave, a bouquet of flowers clasped in his hand that he would put in the vase at the tombstone before he left. He was talking to the grave, telling Sherlock how empty Baker Street felt without him when he saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. John had whipped his head around and caught what he swore was the edge of Sherlock's coat flapping around a tree.

Sherlock had been dead for three months and John still hadn't gotten over his death. He had cried every night for a week, had avoided phone calls and knocks at the door until Mrs. Hudson had finally used her spare key to unlock the door to allow Lestrade and Molly to check on him.

Molly had forced food into him and finally got John to open up to her about how he'd been feeling. John promised to go see his therapist, which he did, and Molly continuously checked up on him often. John told her how he thought he'd seen Sherlock at the grave and Molly hugged him, holding John as he cried, assuring him that as bad as it was, Sherlock was very much dead, though she wished he was alive once again.

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><p><em>Present Day….<em>

John gave a sad smile to the mirror and laughed a little at the predicament. Even on his wedding day he was thinking of Sherlock. Sherlock had ruined many relationships while he'd been alive and John had cursed the Sherlock's spirit for seemingly have ruined others. Gaby, the girl he was to marry in less than two hours was the only one who hadn't been spooked off or ran away when strange things happened. Strange things like his first date with Tammy, the first person he dared to date after Sherlock's death.

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><p><em>Ten months earlier…<em>

"Thanks for inviting me to dinner John."

"My pleasure Tammy, I felt like it was finally time for me to go out and have fun."

"Yeah, I mean, it must have been hard on you, what with him being your colleague and all."

_Much more than that, _John thought but pushed it away. "Enough about me though, how was your day?"

"Brilliant," Tammy replied and continued on, but John's attention was suddenly elsewhere. Hidden in the shadows was a tall man with curly hair dressed in a cook's outfit but John could have sworn it was Sherlock. The man was talking animatedly with the chef and pointed in the direction of the table John and Tammy sat at. "John? Are you ok?"

John turned back to his date, realizing she had been speaking to him before catching himself. "Yeah, sorry, just thought I saw someone I knew." He turned back to the figures in the room but both had disappeared.

"Oh, well anyway, I was just explaining how Sandra, the boss' assistant is most likely sleeping with Jacob, the PA for Addison."

John had no idea who these people were and suddenly missed Sherlock and conversations that actually were intelligent. "Say," he began, breaking into what he was sure was a riveting tale about two coworkers caught in the throes of romance, "what do you think about Scotland Yard taking so long to find that murderer?"

"Really?" Tammy's sharp eyes pierced John. "That's what you think of as date material? Serial murderers and Scotland Yard? No wonder you lived with Sherlock, I always heard he was a bit batty."

John bristled at her words. "Say what you want about me, but don't you say a single bad word about Sherlock."

"John, he was a fake, the newspapers ran it for weeks, I'm sorry you had to live through it." Tammy placed a hand on John's and that's when he snapped.

"You're sorry I had to live through _what _exactly? The death of my best friend? The degradation of the man I trusted and still trust? That I had to go back to my therapist because I lost the only person who helped me forget the war? Because if you're implying, even just the tiniest bit, that the rubbish in the newspapers are true then I was truly fooled by you."

Tammy sat back in her chair, mouth open at the display John had just made. "John I didn't mean to bother you, I just, the papers."

"I bloody well know what the papers said," John growled, trying to keep his voice down. "I also know who Sherlock Holmes was better than anyone else around."

"Look, I'm sorry, obviously Sherlock meant a lot to you. Let's just finish dinner, yeah?"

They finished dinner in awkward silence, John mentally berating himself for losing it like that. He should have guessed that people would wonder, would try to understand how he hadn't been able to see what Sherlock was up to.

He walked Tammy back home, depositing her on her doorstep with a smile and wave, turning around knowing that there was at least one person in London he wouldn't be hearing from again.

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><p><em>Present Day…<em>

That had been an utter disaster and put John off dating for a good two months. He'd sat around Baker Street making conversation with the skull because at least it couldn't talk back and tell him to try again like all of the people alive that he knew. He loved Gaby, was glad to be marrying her, but there was this small itching in the back of his head that wouldn't go away no matter how hard he shoved it into the recesses of his mind. He ignored the itch now, ignored all of the odd things about his and Gaby's relationship. Things like how it took him five dates to hold her hand, eleven to kiss her. Then there was the big thing, the fact that they had yet to have sex. Gaby called it gentlemanly; her friends called it a sure sign of infidelity. John called it nothing. He had no reason why, he just didn't think he should, especially if they ended up back at Baker Street.

John would sell the flat after the marriage of course so that he and Gaby could purchase a house. That was another thing. He almost wanted to keep paying the rent on 221b just to keep it in his lease so that although it would remain unoccupied, Mrs. Hudson would receive her payments and John wouldn't have to figure out what to do with Sherlock's items.

That was another strange thing after Sherlock died, John swore items would move about the flat while he was gone, as if Sherlock was still there moving them.

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><p><em>Six months earlier…<em>

John knew he had left the newspaper on the couch next to his coffee mug, both items that were now missing from the coffee table. "Mrs. Hudson?" He called down the stairs, waiting on the landing.

"Yes dear?" She called upwards, apron tied around her waist.

"Did you clean the flat today? I'm missing a few things."

She frowned slightly as she thought back through the day. "No John, I haven't been up there all week, are you sure you didn't just misplace them?"

"Probably, but I thought I'd at least ask. See you later Mrs. Hudson."

"Same to you John dear."

John reentered the flat, scanning the room for any sign of the missing items. A fleck of green caught his attention in the kitchen and he found his coffee mug clean and drying on the counter. He picked it up, knowing he hadn't washed it before dashing out the door to work. Turning to put the mug up he saw the morning's paper sitting on the table, spread open to an article about a serial murderer on the loose. It was odd, the entire thing, he hadn't moved the items, so who had? John chalked it up to his imagination, or Mycroft but that was far-fetched, and forget about it as time wore on.

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><p><em>Present Day…<em>

That definitely hadn't been the end of strange things, but it had been the start of his and Gaby's relationship. He had decided that if he couldn't remember washing his cup then he might need to get out of Baker Street occasionally.

Gaby was a nurse at the hospital and John had asked her out on a whim, not thinking she'd say yes, but she had. John didn't regret asking her, she made him feel alive, more alive than he had the months following Sherlock's death. He couldn't say she made him feel more alive than Sherlock had, because living with Sherlock meant chasing murderers across London at all hours of the day. Living with Sherlock meant odd screeching of the violin at every hour of the morning. Living with Sherlock had meant John feeling half his age and loving it.

It wouldn't do to dwell on the past, especially not on his wedding day. John took a final look into his mirror, Lestrade grinning at him as he turned around. "Well mate, you look good, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks Greg, does Mycroft always look so stuffy in a tuxedo?"

Lestrade grinned as he crossed to him, straightening Mycroft's tie. John had refused to talk to Mycroft for three months after Sherlock's death, minus that one scene he'd made in the Diogenes Club right after. Now it seemed that if you wanted Lestrade to be somewhere, you got the pair of them. He didn't know how Greg did it, putting up with the clacking of Anthea's, or whatever she was going as, fingers on her phone and Mycroft's incessant stream of phone calls. But they managed and they were happy, engaged too, though John and Mummy Holmes were the only ones that knew as of now. (And Anthea, but she was paid to know everything.)

Mycroft seemed on edge, but John chalked it up to having his phone off and Anthea channeling all calls for the evening. Lestrade was fixing his lapels and talking mutedly to Mycroft when Gaby's brother Arthur entered the room, signaling that the wedding was about to begin. John felt the normal shock of nerves and a hint of something else he decided to shove back down into the recesses before he left the room, flanked by Lestrade and Mycroft.

John took his place at the front of the church, a quaint chapel that Gaby had grown up attending with her parents. He looked out at the small crowd, assorted family members, friends and colleagues sitting in the pews. Gaby's mum, Francis, sat in the front row, hand stuffed with tissues. John's head rose as the pianist began playing _Ode to Joy_, the processional Gaby had chosen. He watched as the line of bridesmaids, all old friends of Gaby's, began to make their way down the aisle. John smiled as the piano trickled down before starting into the bridal march.

John smiled as Gaby advanced down the aisle, a vision in white, latched onto the arm of her father Andrew. She made her way forward, eyes locked on John, smile wide. He took her hand as she reached the stage, stepping up onto the same level as John.

The reverend began to speak, flowery words of happiness, love, and unbreakable bonds. John listened vaguely, the itching feeling back in his mind. He tried to push it away, but it began to grow into a knowing sensation traveling to the pit of his stomach, unsettling him. He vaguely registered the sound of a mobile ringing briefly before the words "speak now or forever hold your peace," registered in his mind and there was a scurry of movement in the back as the church doors shut. John looked and couldn't believe what he saw. Standing at the end of the aisle was a slender figure wrapped in a billowing cloak. Clear blue eyes pierced into John's and a deep voice cut across the chapel. "I think I might be a bit late to the party but John Watson, I am irrevocably in love with you and I was stupid for never telling you."

John stood there, not sure if he was shocked more by the person standing there or the statement he'd just uttered. Everything came to a sudden halt, people craning their necks to see who the cause of the disturbance was. Gaby looked between Sherlock and John, sad eyes catching his as if she knew this would happen all along. John sat there, his mouth working but nothing coming out, torn at running to Sherlock and punching him for leaving him and hugging him for being alive. Suddenly a voce spoke above the quiet chattering. "Sherlock, you have always had impeccable timing." If one didn't know Mycroft Holmes, they wouldn't catch onto the sarcasm he was portraying. "Was this entire debacle worth it? Ruining John's wedding?"

"Mycroft, stay out of this, I made this decision and now I have to live with the consequences." Sherlock bowed his head, unable to decipher the look on John's face.

Finally, Gaby spoke up quietly. "John, go. Go to him, you need this, he needs this. I understand. I never asked about him because I knew. All I had to do was look around Baker Street once. You love him, go be happy, you deserve it, and mostly I deserve this. Neither of us would be happy with him alive and you not with him. It's okay, you have my blessing John, and I'm still young, got the whole world in front of me."

John stared at her, trying to take it all in. "But Gaby, I can't just leave you here, you deserve more than that."

"Yes, I do. But I'm smart enough to know what true happiness looks like, and the look on your face just now when you saw him, it was like you were coming home. You love him and that's what I care about."

John took one final glance at Gaby, who pushed him towards the edge of the altar. He stumbled forward, regained his balance and then ran the rest of the way down the aisle to Sherlock. First he punched him square in the nose, eliciting a gasp from those in the audience not comforting the bride. Then John grabbed fistfuls of coat and pulled Sherlock to him, muttering "stupid, stupid fool" before kissing him soundly. Cries were heard across the chapel and Gaby's grandmother even fainted as Francis carried on about how her daughter had almost married a poof and oh, what would the papers say?

As John pulled away from Sherlock, the din in the chapel reached his ears as he floated back down to earth. The entire moment was surreal. Sherlock had just crashed his wedding. He felt like he should be angry, but he couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than relieved and happy. He jumped as a set of arms wrapped around him and he turned to see Gaby standing there. "I'm so, so very sorry. I ruined what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life."

"Hush John, it's okay, it really is. Am I upset, yeah but I won't let it get to me. Now, I think you two need to go catch up with one another. It's okay, I'll handle the family, Mycroft said he'd pay for the ceremony seeing as his brother caused the commotion. Go, be happy John."

John pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, a soft thank you falling from his lips as he began to move Sherlock out the doors and into a cab.

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><p>The ride back to Baker Street was silent and awkward. There were a million things John wanted to say, but they were jumbled together and he didn't know where to begin. He glanced over and smiled, Sherlock was using the window as a mirror to inspect the bruise marring his face where John had hit him. <em>He bloody well deserved it<em>, John thought to himself as the cab slowed to a stop.

They climbed the stairs in silence, John's heart thudding in his chest and Sherlock's eyes hitting everything but the person in front of him. John took his usual seat, Sherlock sitting across from him, legs folded beneath his body as he opened his mouth to speak. "John, I'm sorry. I ruined your wedding. I should-I shouldn't have come."

John gave a small laugh, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "You know Sherlock, for a genius, you're a bit stupid sometimes."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "go on."

"Do you think I would have bloody kissed you in front of everyone in that church if I didn't love you? I thought you were _dead_ you bastard. I learned to live without you, seeing you everywhere though it was impossible. But I never stopped loving you. Of course, I'd thought anyone mad if they had told me I loved you. I pushed it away, hid it, tried not to think about it, or you. I never said it or thought it, but I think Gaby knew. When you showed up she told me it was okay because she knew what you meant to me. The woman who was supposed to be my wife Sherlock! She even understood when I couldn't. There was always this little itch, something I couldn't scratch, and that was you."

"John, really I'm sorry. But when Mycroft text me," Sherlock picked up his phone, scrolling through the messages to find one from a few weeks ago, "and I quote, 'Sherlock he's getting married. I'm a groomsman' then today, 'Sherlock, I better see you here or I swear I will hunt you down' I knew I had to. My brother didn't even truly know I was alive and he felt it necessary to text me about you. I think he knew about how I felt before I did. He warned me once you know, told me that emotions were dangerous. He knew what you meant to me and knew that allowing you to marry Gaby without me ever telling you how I felt; he thought it would be the end of me."

"So that's why you charged into the chapel with your proclamation? Because you've known for a bloody long time that you had some sort of feeling for me but you forgot to mention this?"

Sherlock cast his eyes downward, wanting to cross the floor and wrap John in his arms and promise to never let go. "I couldn't. Molly said something in those last days; she told me she saw how sad I looked when I thought you couldn't see me. It was true. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but she was right. I think Molly knew before anyone, I don't give her enough credit."

John sat there, staring at Sherlock. It was a lot to process; finding out your best friend was dead and loved you back all in the same day, your wedding day on top of it all. "It was you, it's always been you," John said quietly. "I dated a string of women, and a man, but they all lacked something, even with Gaby, it felt right ninety-nine percent of the time, but if pressed hard enough, there was always something off. You know what that was? None of them were you; none of them were Sherlock Homes."

Sherlock smiled, his blue eyes locking onto John's, "so we're okay? No hard feelings for ruining your wedding?"

"Gaby might be cross at you for a while, but if you had come back after, it would have been worse yeah? I would have been married then, and not to you."

Suddenly Mycroft burst through the door, his air of power commanding the room as Lestrade rushed up behind him. "Now that we have gone past the stage of awkward silence to understanding and love, can we please hurry back to the chapel?"

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Sherlock spoke up, "Mycroft, I believe we should let John decide."

"Decide what? And stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"You are dressed for a wedding are you not?" Mycroft asked pointedly.

"Yeah but what does that matter?"

"And Sherlock, he's dressed for a wedding too?"

John looked over and noticed that Sherlock was indeed wearing a tuxedo under his coat. "Well, yeah but I'm still not getting the point."

Mycroft sighed heavily as Lestrade cut in. "John, you can still get married today."

Suddenly everything fell into place. "Wait, you expect me to just waltz back down there and marry my madman of a flatmate, who I thought was dead for a year and a half? Are the lot of you mental?"

"You really picked a bright one Sherlock," Mycroft murmured before turning to John. "You love my brother, do you not?"

"Well, yeah, but,"

"And you enjoy his company, always will?"

"Yes, but that isn't the point?"

"And, even though I cannot believe what I am about to say, you would gladly consummate this relationship?"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock roared, "That is enough from you!"

"Answer the question John."

"Yes," John stated quietly, face burning red in embarrassment.

"Then pray tell why we cannot go back to the chapel and make it legal so I will not have to wear this tuxedo ever again?"

"Oi Mycroft, you will be in a tuxedo when we're married."

"Not now Gregory, I'm trying to talk some sense into John. Look, those awkward months of dancing around each other, years of living together and years of living without each other, that was the longest not engagement-engagement I have ever had to suffer through. So, if you would politely return to Saint Mary's with me for less than an hour we can fix this and you two can copulate to your hearts' content."

John really didn't know how Lestrade put up with Mycroft, but he had a feeling the man wouldn't leave until he gave his affirmative. "Fine. Let's go. You're right, I'd gladly marry Sherlock, but this lacks finesse."

"Nothing lacks finesse with Sherlock, John. Did you miss his grand entrance to your wedding?"

John noticed Sherlock re-entering the room and crossing to him, smiling gently before kneeling in front of him. "John Hamish Watson, for some odd reason, we found each other and I almost lost you, I never want to lose you. So, will you marry me?"

"Like I said, dramatic as always."

"Oh sod off Mycroft," John murmured before reaching out to touch Sherlock's cheek gently. "Of course. I may be mental, but I'll marry you."

Sherlock stood, taking John by the hand and pulled him towards the door to Mycroft's car.

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><p>"Anthea, set up a flight for tomorrow to Paris, two tickets for a week, hotel and all. I think John deserves that."<p>

"Mycroft, you don't need to do that," John argued, but quieted at the hand on his leg.

"John, that's his way of saying he approves, just say thank you."

"Thank you Mycroft," John echoed, earning a laugh from Lestrade.

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><p>They arrived at the chapel, the minister standing there waiting for them. "Good to see you again John, a bit sooner than I thought, but that's okay."<p>

John shook hands with the man as Sherlock joined him at the altar, his tuxedo tight in all the right places. John wondered how he could have ever imagined he was straight, what with the way his thoughts were straying at seeing Sherlock in a bow tie of all things. Maybe it was just Sherlock, and he realized, it didn't matter, because Sherlock was all he needed.

John smiled as the minister began reciting the same lines he'd read earlier in the day, but the names were quite different. This time when he asked if anyone believed the wedding should not continue there were no banging doors, no shouting of words, just a sheepish smile on Sherlock's face. "I now pronounce you husband and husband" were the best words John had ever heard, the gold ring on his finger cool against his skin as he leaned towards Sherlock, their lips meeting in an intense kiss. John knew he'd never get tired of that mouth, those hands, that body. It was his, as much as his mouth, body and soul were Sherlock's.

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><p>They boarded the plane Mycroft had purchased tickets for, sitting in first class together on the way to Paris. As John looked over at Sherlock whose nose was buried in a cold case file he smiled. If you had told John Watson he'd one day be John Hamish Holmes he'd have laughed in your face, but here he was, on his way to his honeymoon with his husband, Sherlock Holmes. Those words still rolled around in his mind, the idea of anyone calling Sherlock Holmes husband was an odd thought, but John wouldn't have had it any other way.<p>

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><p><em>Review please? Because I love you like John loves Sherlock? Like Mycroft loves cake?<em>


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